You. Specifically you. You are a crybaby. I am talking directly to you. I know you. You know, good old “Your Name.” Hey. You’re a big time crybaby.
I know this for a fact. Correct me if I’m wrong, but as you’re reading this aren’t you a little upset that I just called you a crybaby? A little part of you is saying “I’m not a crybaby, this guy is wrong” or “Man, what a bummer that this guy is so negative about calling people crybabies; you know, loosen up, guy” or “This hilarious guy must be talking about some crybabies that are not me, ha ha ha” or “I see what this guy is trying to do here. Nice try, guy trying to do a thing, I’m too smart for that.” Guess what? All of those responses mean one thing and one thing only: “booo hoo hoo, I am a crybaby.”
That’s how I know you are one. A crybaby.
I know what I’m talking about. I have full authority to ask the question: “Why are you such a fucking crybaby, huh?“ I am an expert on crybabies. You know why? Because I say so and I’m here and you’re not. Okay? I am allowed to call you a crybaby. I’m on the internet. Right now. I’m occupying this space on the internet and you’re not, and this space is permanently reserved for me calling you a crybaby. Think of it as a sign that says “CRYBABY” under a mirror, and the only thing you can see in it is YOUR FACE. I put the sign up. It’s my sign. I get to do this because I thought of it and you didn’t. What are you gonna do about it? Nothing. Nothing but cry me a river made of baby tears. You can’t change the fact that I just called you a crybaby. You’re too late. I’m already here.
Crybabies are made of two things: crying, and babies. The term “crybaby” is itself a colloquial shortening of the phrase “crying baby.” Hey, did you know that? “Crybaby” comes in handy because that’s what all people are all the time no matter what these days. Including, especially, you.
You know why?
Because thanks to boring technical explanation, everybody everywhere these days doesn’t have to expose themselves to anything they don’t like, and if they don’t like something they get to tell the whole world about it instantly right there on the spot. Did you know that? I bet you did, you fucking crybaby. I bet you tweeted all about it. I bet the last time you were in the grocery store line behind a lady with Elephantiasis arguing about the expiration date on a coupon for fabric softeners, you tweeted and tumblred and texted and Facebooked and blogged your little stupid baby head off about it. Tweeted like a crying baby who cries when something’s not right and they don’t know what to do about it except cry.
I know that’s what I did.